Genesis
by Maiden of the Moon
Summary: Sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it. --Gen 4:7 -A collection of ficlets revolving around the biblical chapter of Genesis.-
1. 4:15 to 16

**Disclaimer: **Why must you demean me this way?

**Author's Note: **This is what happens when you put me in any sort of religious class/setting. Inevitably.

**Warnings: **Short, sweet, to the point. Shouta in some, religious references in all. To be honest, the theme of this ficlet is one that I've already played with—extensively—in stories like "Gratitude," but… well, here we go again. In other news, I would like to extend inspirational credit to Goodbymyheart for this chapter… if you don't know why, go read her fic "Payment in Due." SO GOOD~

**XXX**

**Genesis**

**XXX**

**X**

**4:15-16**

**X**

There was nothing so twisted, Sebastian soon discovered, than the sense of humor held by a tormented child.

"What are you reading, young master?"

The delicate ten-year-old, head still bound in scarlet scraps of swaddled clothing, grunted softly as he lifted the book in his arms—so bulky, so bejeweled, that the demon half-wondered if his skeletal arms would break whilst attempting to present it. But no… his tiny master would never allow God to break him. Not again.

"The Bible, hm? An interesting choice," the butler acknowledged— the mockery in his simpering praise duly noted. "Might I be so bold as to enquire why?"

Ciel's initial response was an elegant shrug; the gesture seemed almost paradoxical, taking his current state of dress into account. An oversized nightshirt and loose slacks hardly seemed appropriate attire for a member of the gentry… "I have read and re-read all of the other fairytales in my library," he then droned, turning a rice-paper page with a sigh and a sneer. "Though I must admit, I had expected more in the way of a narrative. This book bounces all over the place."

The graceful devil smiled sympathetically, head tilted as if in empathetic understanding. "Alas, it is not much of a pleasure-read," he agreed, returning his attentions to his teacart. Within his steady grasp, the Wedgewood china tinkled and chinked (in a cheery sort of way), serenading the hollow glug-splash-hiss of poured refreshment. "However monotonous the experience, perhaps the young master would prefer to return to the Brothers Grimm?"

"Not at present, no," his petite lord retorted, the declaration highlighted by a majestic sort of cadence (as well as a condescending snort) as he accepted his mid-afternoon treat. The gilded volume found its way onto the adjacent coffee table, propped open to a chapter full of calligraphic poetry. "For all of its flaws, the stories themselves are far 'grimmer' than any Germanic tale… and I confess, I find its messages amusing."

Sebastian crooked an eyebrow, even as he proffered a platter of éclairs. "Amusing, my lord?"

Ciel's sickle-smile widened by canines and incisors, as sharp and cold as the rising winter moon. "'An eye for an eye,'" the damned boy quoted, star-white fingers clenching around copper-scented bandages. "Do you think I chose the position of my Seal arbitrarily? There were so many other places I could have told you to engrave the symbol… but no. They stole from me my family. They took from me my home. They robbed me of everything good and decent in this world— drove me into a position where I had to sell my soul in order to survive."

An oddly nonchalant hand toyed with a silvery tea spoon; the sight reminded the butler of a human idiom, and he wondered if anyone else would see the irony in the situation. That the silver spoon that the lad had once been born with was now little more than a potential weapon… A scoop, a shovel— ideal for gouging, or digging one's own grave.

Unaware of his servant's thoughts, the earl's gaze, voice, and expression fell as one, identical and appropriately deadpan. "My right eye is useless, Sebastian," he informed (unnecessarily), setting aside his drink and snack without so much as tasting them. But still, the bowled utensil remained… "I can see nothing through the runes you inscribed. According to the God of this country, it is only fair that I should be given retribution in kind."

"So you wish to blind the world, young master?" the demon coolly paraphrased, his inconspicuous emotions betrayed by the ruby shimmer in his eyes—a glittering miasma of apple-sin and garnet lust. A tempt and a taunt wove its way into his words; the Serpent of the Garden would be proud. "Such goals you entertain! Such fire, such passion! The dreams of children are always so precious."

His derision did not go unnoticed. Incensed, the Lord of Phantomhive bared his pointed teeth: grit in the back as his twitching lips slid upward. "Don't you _dare_ mock me, you vile thing," Ciel spat, his glacial eyes as frigid with fury as Sebastian's were warm with laughter. "You have no right!"

"As you say," the creature purred in reply, soothing and sickeningly sweet. Like molasses, like honey, the butler's voice was a sugary, audible-syrup that stuck in mouth and ears and mind… "Well then. How does my precocious master propose his vendetta be wrought?"

Ciel, temporarily appeased, felt his face warp in the wake of a caustic smirk, coal-gray lashes fluttering in lazy condescension. "I shall say, 'let us go out to the field,'" he droned, sarcasm coloring his silken voice black. One of his hands rediscovered the holy tome, tapping out a curt, militaristic tune; the other found his alabaster cheek, supporting it with a regal flare of slender digits. Lithesome legs crossed; venom poisoned his lilted conclusion: "And when we are in the field, I will rise up against my brothers and kill them."

The allusion was not lost upon the devil. In fact, it was a source of great entertainment: the faux-man grinned and chuckled and cooed in the gloom— a gloved finger uncoiling to dissect his folsom face. "And what if their blood should cry out from the ground?" Sebastian wheedled, sidling ever-closer to his treasured charge: looming, leaning, and lifting his brittle chin. Such delicious defiance he found in that one-orbed gaze—such sumptuous scorn, such appetizing annoyance… "What if one should question the sudden disappearance of your brethren? What if their descendants should wish for revenge against _you_…?"

The noble-child scoffed, ripping himself away from the cloying shadows. "That's why you're here, isn't it?" he reminded blandly, wholly unimpressed with his servant's little show. "If not to protect me, than what am I paying you for?"

The contempt—the supremacy— the _order_ in his tone was _delectable_.

Satisfied by this display (of blatant insolence), the demon beamed and nodded—as obsequious as the dog for whom he was named, falling to his knees with a bow and a scrape. "My young master is correct, of course," he breathed as he did so, savoring the searing ache of raw power as it coursed through his enchanted veins. "I shall be by my lord's side, his ever vigilant knight, until this game has reached its end."

The feral leer widened; rust eyes flashed like a hungry bird's. Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, beneath the curtain of the boy's fabric bindings, his indigo iris did the same. A spark of realization; a gasp of pleasured pain. Entirely unanticipated (for who would have thought that the devil had control issues of his own?), a jolt of backlashed energy streaked through the earl's worn synapses, toying with the frayed nerve endings in his brain; as if against his will, Ciel's fingers contorted—six crumpled pages were soon trapped within the prison of his trembling fist, nearly ripped from the book's cracked spine.

And all the while, the dark crow smiled.

"Besides," the kowtowing butler then whispered, standing to place possessive hands over Ciel's throbbing, oozing, cotton-concealed wound-mark, "as a servant of Phantomhive, it is only natural that I should serve, follow, and protect my master…"

Truly, there was nothing so _twisted_ as the sense of humor held by a tormented child…

"…no matter what the cost."

But the games that God allowed proved a very close second.

**X**

"_Then the Lord said to him, 'Not so! Whoever kills Cain will suffer a sevenfold vengeance.' And the Lord put a mark on Cain, so that no one who came upon him would kill him. Then Cain went away from the presence of the Lord…"_

**XXX**


	2. 18:3

**Disclaimer:** Seriously. DEAMEANING.

**Author's Note:** MOAR R3L1GI0N~ And moar dialogue. :D

**Warnings:** SebaCiel implications. I should also probably mention that each edition of the Bible has the same passages rewritten in different ways, so these quotes may not match what appears in your scriptures.

**XXX**

**Genesis**

**XXX**

**X**

**18:3**

**X**

"The preparations for this evening's party have been completed, my lord. Are they to your satisfaction?"

"That remains to be seen. Walk me through these 'preparations.'"

"As you command. To begin, I decided upon the night's menu: the meal will start with hors d'oeuvres of quails egg and lamb, followed by a light supper of rolled cabbage and potato mint salad. Dessert will consist of crème brule and violet pudding, depending on our honored guests' preferred taste."

"Bard will have a field day, I'm sure."

"Not to worry, young master. I have long-since finished the cooking. He will merely have to reheat the meal."

"…"

"I have also confiscated his flamethrower."

"Alright then. Continue."

"Yes, sir. With dinner plans complete, I took it upon myself to clean each room of the manor, just in case a wayward visitor might wander off and find themselves someplace they do not belong. But more importantly, I bedecked the ballroom in all manner of opulence: tasteful ribbons of cream silk, candelabras of polished silver, bouquets of white roses and lilac, freesia and sweet pea."

"That should keep Lizzie appeased, at least."

"Indeed. The young master will also find that the grand chandelier has been adorned in a number of teardrop-diamonds, which dangle from the golden rungs as elegant icicles. Once the candles have been lit, they will glisten most impressively—like stars against the high ceiling. Below, the marble floor has been scrubbed to a shine, and gilded chairs have been placed in the far corner to be used by the orchestra I've hired. As for your fellow gentry, a number of mahogany tables have been prepared for periodic refreshment; obviously, said tables have been draped in sheets of pale blue velvet, in order to maintain our pastel color scheme. Likewise, our finest flutes of crystal have been taken from storage, and arranged in a decorative way… to remain until the champagne is properly chilled. No one will dare question the young master's wealth or sophistication upon seeing this striking display."

"It sounds fairly gaudy."

"You have my assurance that it is not, my lord. Please try to refrain from judgment until you have seen the room for yourself."

"Whatever. Have you more to report?"

"Just a few final details, my lord. I have instructed the rest of the staff to dress themselves in their best clothes, and have locked— that is, asked them to please kindly stay within their quarters until the ball begins. As for our honored guests, they have all sent letters promising to arrive within the hour. There is nothing left to do but help you into your own finery, young master."

"Very good."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…is there something else you wish to say, Sebastian?"

"I was merely wondering… have my actions pleased you, my lord?"

"I beg your pardon? Making such arrangements is a part of your_ job_; I expect you to do them, and that is that. It is not a matter of 'pleasing' me or not."

"Oh, but of _course_ it is! Young master, everything that I do, I do in the hopes of pleasing you. And yet, so rarely do my actions garner even the faintest hint of gratitude…"

"…you can't possibly be serious."

"I am always serious, young master."

"Is that so?"

"Most certainly. I would never dare make light of a situation as dire as this."

"…very well, then, Sebastian. I'll reward you for your hard work. In fact, I'll reward you quite handsomely— but only if you deserve it."  

"My lord?"

"Let's make a game of this, shall we? I will shower you thoroughly in… let's say, "gratitude,"… if you manage to please me before this blasted party starts."

"My my, what an intriguing notion. But of course, I accept your challenge, and I greatly anticipate my inevitable reward. Now, in what way shall I please you, young master?"

"Oh… let's see if you can't come up with an idea whilst helping me into my suit."

**X**

_"My Lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant."_

**XXX**


	3. 3:19

**Disclaimer: **………_really?_

**Author's Note: **Ironically, I play more with a fairytale in this one than I do a religious story… oh well. I like it, and that's all that matters. XD

**Warnings: **Blah, blah, blah~

**XXX**

**Genesis**

**XXX**

**X**

**3:19**

**X**

On the outskirts of London, there stood a decrepit manor.

Charred from flame, chafed from wind, and tangled within the tendrils of an ivy web, the crumbling mansion loomed: a once-proud castle reduced to shell and cinders, casting misshapen shadows upon the overgrown landscape. That same sprawling territory was nearly as desolate as the building itself: marked by undulating weeds, skeletal oaks, and rosebushes that strained outward and upward, their eager thorns enveloping the home in a possessive embrace.

A beauty slumbered there.

Or so the villagers whispered. But whether Aurora had been asleep for one hundred years or one thousand, no one could rightly say, for the mansion had been deserted for as long as anyone could remember. And yet, its presence weighted constantly upon the minds of those in the city: fathers spoke of childhood dares, of tremulous adventures upon the midnight grounds; grandmothers told tales of fairy lights and beastly screams, of ethereal faces that glowed in the cracked windows of the second floor. Only the very, very eldest recalled the days of progressiveness and modernization, when urban bureaucrats had tried to clear away the worn bricks of marble. But their innovate desires soon vanished, as fleeting as the morning dew, when the officials of the project suddenly disappeared…

"T'isn't any beauty in that house," those ancients mumbled to themselves, their suspicious eyes ever-cocked in the direction of that floral briar. "Tis only black magic . Tis only evil bein's. Tis only the devil and his wicked companions."

But the children found such prattle far too simplistic for their cultivated tastes, and instead chose to while away their idle hours crafting stories of pleasure and fantasy. One boy decided that magical elves had made the manor their dwelling, and were slowly trying to put it back together; a little girl insisted that it was the den of werewolves, drawing upon archaic folklore, the occasional howl, and her grandfather's youthful discovery of gigantic, decomposing dog bones. A small band of teenagers, on the other hand, vocally debased this poppycock, claiming to have one-day ventured past the rusted gates themselves. Now, they would tell anyone who would listen how they had been chased away by a swarm of red-eyed crows. "The feathers," they'd breathe, as if the mundane word held great significance. "The _feathers_."

But they would elaborate no more than that.

Of course, it hardly mattered; no one knew quite what to believe, and that was half the fun. In this way, the legends grew and combined and spawned _new_ stories, each more unbelievable than the last. It became a game, and little ones yearned to top the tales of their seniors, going so far as to ask the opinions of the tourists and travelers that were patient enough to listen to their rambles.

"That old place? Why, I don't believe it exists at all!" one biddy exclaimed, chuckling to herself as she offered the brood some sweeties from her purse. "I think it's an illusion made by the leprechauns. Just a bit of fun. A practical joke, I suppose?"

Her response evoked a nod or two of agreement.

"Me? Why, my parents once told me that the manor house was the home of a pagan goddess," a weathered gentleman admitted, readjusting his tie as he crawled into his jalopy. Even as he spoke, he signaled for his chauffer to start driving; he yelled the last bit through the lowered window. "And to be honest, children, I've given it no thought since then."

No one listened to him.

"The mansion outside of town? Why, yes, I do know of it," another male—albeit fifty years younger— acknowledged, smiling faintly at his audience. "But I must admit, I do not find the house in itself entirely interesting."

"We don't, either," a ten-year-old returned, looking (much like his companions) faintly annoyed by the man's patronizing tone. "After all, even a haunted house is nothin' without the beast what haunts it, right? We wanna know what you think is _inside_."

To the frustration of (nearly) all involved, the boy's irritation only served to further whet his elder's amusement; the dark-haired stranger chuckled as he plucked a ruby apple from the produce stand, and placed it tenderly within his woven basket. "Inside?" he then echoed, bringing a second scarlet fruit up to his curving lips. The glossy garnet skin, polished to a mirror-smooth shine, reflected the whites of his silvery teeth; his smile was like the farmer's scythe, and it made the children wary. "Little ones, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have been within those moldering walls, and there is nothing to be found there but dust and decay."

He flipped the grocer a golden coin, handed his spare apple to the (still irate) 10-year-old, and—after giving the grumbling child a condescending pat on the head— made his way down the cobbled street.

Needless to say, no one listened to him, either.

But in his wake, the teenagers seemed unusually jumpy… and for some time following the encounter, their murmurs of red-eyed crows grew more pronounced.

**X**

"Young master, it is time for tea."

It was difficult to knock on a non-existent door, and by this point Sebastian assumed that Ciel no longer cared for such courtesy. There was no work to be done, nor criminals to chase, nor guests to prepare for, and so it was impossible to interrupt the boy one way or another; the butler felt no need or reason to hesitate, and instead cheerily pushed his cart across the gray, rotting floorboards.

"For today's dessert, I have prepared a Danish apple tart, decorated with vanilla glaze."

The master's study was, perhaps, the best-kept of the remaining rooms. The corners were dark with fungus, and the ground carpeted in rubble, but his little lord's writing table remained in spectacular condition, even after enduring four centuries of snow and rain. Thankfully, there was no snow or rain to contend with, today; the watery autumn sunshine was the only thing to pour through the creaks and cracks and glaring holes in the ceiling. The ceiling itself, however, was responsible for some strange form of precipitation, as attested by the growing pile of shingles that lay beside an overturned chair frame... And while there was no ice to cope with (as of yet), there was the illusion of such: shards of broken glass glittered and gleamed and threw angled rainbows, their colors splintering as the demon trod upon the crystalline debris, making his way over to Ciel's desk.

"As always, I worried about brining further liquid into this room, young master. I pray you forgive me, but we shall be having tea time without tea, again."

He set the delicate pastry upon the mold-peppered table, directly before an antique chessboard. Placed lovingly atop the warped plank of checkered squares was a large pile of pallid ash, crowned with a weather-worn token of dark, distorted wood.

"Please enjoy your treat, my lord."

And the King slept.

**X**

"_By the sweat of your face_

_You shall eat bread_

_Until you return to the ground,_

_For out of it you were taken;_

_You are dust,_

_And to dust you shall return."_

**XXX**


End file.
